The Pretty Boy Must Be An Airhead
by Verity Grahams
Summary: Blaise going for careers advice


**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter**

**This story was written for The Houses Competition**

**House: Hufflepuff**

**Position: Prefect**

**Category: Drabble**

**Prompt: [Colour] - Burgundy**

**Character: Blaise Zabini**

**Word count: 930**

* * *

The Pretty Boy Must Be An Airhead

Blaise sat in the cold, dark office with his head of house. He was supposed to be having a meeting about his chosen career path.

"I have your predicted O.W.L grades."

Blaise froze–he had no idea that there was such a thing. He prayed to Merlin that the predicted grades came from Trelawney and not from a more realistic source.

"These grades are taken from previous exams, classwork and homework. Today we'll discuss how best to help you move forward."

Blaise was struck by just how irritated he sounded. Disregarding any personal opinions, Blaise got the distinct impression that he despised his job. This only spurred him on. Blaise didn't want to end up in a job that made him that bitter, miserable and angry!

They sat in silence. Blaise's eyes were fixed on a leather wallet on the desk. It was made of soft burgundy leather, and gold lettering spelled his name: Zabini, Blaise. The elusive grade predictions _must_ be inside, and all he could do was wait.

"This is careers advice, Mr Zabini. I cannot help unless I know your chosen career. Don't force me into a discussion about becoming the new face of _Sleekeazy's_."

Blaise scowled; it was everyone's assumption. Pretty boy—he must be an airhead. There's no way he wanted a challenge.

"_Actually_, Professor, I want to work in Potions and Spell development."

Professor Snape looked up. Blaise knew the look well; skepticism. His mother had been the same: '_But you have to be smart to go into magical development, Blaise.'_ That had been the end of that conversation.

"Magical development? Are you sure that you can handle that?"

Blaise was shocked to hear a hint of interest in his tone. He blinked once, twice, yes this was happening. "That's what Mother said: '_You have to be smart, not the kind of career for someone like you',_" he mimicked, not thinking about where he was. "I just find it fascinating." Blaise lit up; he wasn't being shot down. It made him wonder—what was in that burgundy file?

Blaise felt very much like he was being assessed–was he was worth the time and effort?

"Have you ever attempted to create or alter a spell or potion?" he asked.

Blaise winced.

"It didn't go well?"

Blaise shook his head, unable to hide the faint smirk. "I've been reading up on it. I know '_Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration_' by heart. I've read everything I can by Adalbert Waffling, but I've no idea where I'm going wrong!" Blaise rambled, more animated than he was known for.

"Read Hambledon Quince instead," the potions master began.

He got up, and Blaise eyed the burgundy wallet once more, so tempted to see what his predictions were. Professor Snape turned back, handing him a thick leather-bound volume.

"Secondly..." The professor pulled the burgundy file towards him. "It's your Arithmancy. You've barely scraped an 'A'."

"I don't get that subject– at all!"

"It's an essential element. You have all the skill in potions, I am confident that you can achieve an 'O'. Arithmancy is important because it prevents guesswork, which means that you can be more precise when making changes."

"How do you know? You just teach potions!" Blaise blurted, not thinking. He was angry with the burgundy file. It had held so much promise; now it crushed his dream.

"I started to play around with potions and spells in the fourth year, and by the fifth year I was starting to get somewhere."

Blaise was struck by how unlike Professor Snape this was—he never allowed any form of sass, no matter who it was from. It seemed like his professor wasn't responding as a teacher but as someone who had a similar interest.

"What was the first spell you created?" Blaise asked eagerly.

The usually dour professor was almost smiling, something no Hogwarts student alive had seen. The smile was more smug than anything—not that Blaise could blame him, he would have loved to create his own spell.

"I called it '_Langlock_', it glued someone's tongue to the roof of their mouth." He smirked.

"Seriously? That's so cool!"

"I'd tried changing potions initially, and you can definitely play around with that; you have the Herbology grade. 'E', it's enough to be going on, but I would try to get an 'O', understanding your ingredients is vital."

"Arsenius Jigger said, '_Understanding how ingredients interact with each other is the most important and fundamental skill in the art of potion making_,'" Blaise recited.

"Exactly, if you can get Arithmancy up to an 'E'—preferably an 'O'—you'll be more prepared for your N.E.W.T.s." Severus pulled parchments from the burgundy wallet.

"I just need to know what areas to work on, I'll do whatever it takes! I just want to prove _them_ wrong."

"People made assumptions about me at Hogwarts too." The professor pursed his lips and frowned. "It's very doable, Blaise. You just need to work on your runic equations. You didn't take Ancient Runes," Severus commented as he read the parchment. "You could do with some background knowledge. I have something that can help."

Blaise was soon scribbling in his notebook as his professor dictated. It was entirely out of character for the Head of Slytherin, and yet Blaise found it wasn't. Once Professor Snape knew you were interested, he was more than willing to have an intelligent conversation. The man clearly took issue with '_dunderheads.'_

The burgundy folder no longer stood between him and his dream; in fact, it had held the answers all along.


End file.
